Ernest Goes Walkabout
by Susan M. M
Summary: Dr. Ernest Littlefield has gone missing.  Can SG-1 find him before he accidentally reveals the secrets of Project Stargate?
1. 101st Precinct

**Standard fanfic disclaimer **that wouldn't last ten seconds in a court of law: these aren't my characters. I'm just borrowing them for um, er, typing practice. Yeah, that's it, typing practice. They will be returned to their original owners relatively undamaged, or at least suitably bandaged. This story was originally published in Our Favorite Things #26, and was a FanQ nominee for Best Crossover. (I lost to the inimitable Uncle Charlie, some of whose stories can be found on this website.)

**Ernest Goes Walkabout**

_Stargate SG-1/Kung Fu: the Legend Continues_

by Susan M. M.

"I was trying to find Jeremy," the old man said plaintively.

Detective Peter Caine looked up as Det. Mary Margaret Skalany escorted an elderly man into the detectives' bullpen of Sloanville's 101st precinct, grateful for the interruption. It was only quarter past nine, and already the day was off to a bad start. The dark-haired policeman was on hold with the coroner's office, and ready to strangle whomever had invented Muzak.

"Yeah, yeah, you told us you were looking for Jeremy. Let's try to find you first," Skalany said. She escorted him to a chair beside her desk. "You said your name was Ernest?"

The balding man nodded. "Dr. Ernest Littlefield."

"And you were trying to find Jeremy?" the brunette prompted.

Ernest nodded again. "He wasn't at his house. The wrong people were there."

The bullpen had a shabby aura to it. About a third of the desks in the bullpen were manned, their occupants engaged in the never-ending battle for truth, justice, and paperwork. The furniture was old and battered; most of the desks were cluttered with files. Two offices were in the back of the bullpen, one for Captain Karen Simms, one for Det. Kermit Griffin. Both offices had the Venetian blinds down for privacy.

"The lady there said she didn't know you, and that she didn't know Jeremy," Skalany reminded him. "Maybe it was the wrong house?"

Ernest shook his head. "It was Jeremy's house. He should have been expecting me."

Kermit, the precinct's computer expert, emerged from his office to raid the coffee pot. He was a tall, dark-haired man, wearing a slightly shabby suit and green-tinted glasses. Before he could escape back into his sanctum sanctorum, Skalany stopped him. "Hey, Kermit, could you check out a Jeremy Rigby for me? I have an address where he isn't - the real address might be a digit or two off, or maybe the same number but a different street."

Kermit whispered to her, "Do your own Googling, Mary Margaret. I'm not Peter's father, where you can wrap me around your little finger."

Skalany blushed. Her feelings toward Kwai Chang Caine were an open secret. His feelings toward her - well, who could tell what a Shao-lin master really thought or felt?

Kermit lifted his glasses, so she could see him wink. "Sorry, Mary Margaret. I've got other things to do."

Peter put his hand over the phone. "What's up, Mary Margaret? Alzheimer's walkabout?"

"Maybe, but we haven't had any Alzheimer's patients reported missing. Dr. Littlefield here tried to break into a house on Donna Drive. He said he was looking for Jeremy Rigby, but the people there didn't know him or Rigby." She turned back to Ernest. "Now, where do you live?"

"I live with Catherine."

"Catherine who?" Skalany asked.

"She's my fiancee."

"Where does Catherine live?" she asked patiently.

"She lives at her father's house, of course." Ernest looked around. "Lots of little computers. Catherine has a little computer. Not at all like her father's Univac."

One dark eyebrow rose at his terminology. "Do you know Catherine's address?"

Ernest felt his pockets. "I had it written down on a card, but I lost it."

"Phone number? E-mail?" Skalany prompted.

"Klondike 455," he replied.

"Klondike 455?" Skalany repeated. Phone numbers hadn't been given in that style in decades. And it wasn't a valid phone number anyway; it didn't have enough digits.

Peter swore. "They hung up on me." He glanced at Skalany. "Need some help?"

"Yeah, if you could try to track down Jeremy Rigby, I'll try to find where Dr. Littlefield ought to be." She turned to the old man and smiled. "Would you like a cup of coffee, sir? It might take us a little while to find Catherine or Jeremy."

Ernest smiled and nodded. "That would be very nice of you."

Five minutes later, Peter gestured Skalany over. Excusing herself quietly, she rose and walked over to Peter's desk. "What's up?"

Like Skalany, Peter kept his voice low. "I found Jeremy Rigby. He did live at 4812 Donna Drive, but he died nearly thirty years ago."

"No wonder the current resident didn't recognize his name. The house could have been sold four or five times since he passed on."

"He was an archaeologist, specializing in ancient Egypt. Taught history and anthropology at the university. Died in a drunk driving accident," Peter reported.

Skalany went back to her desk. "Dr. Littlefield? I'm sorry, but I have some bad news. Jeremy Rigby is dead."

"He is?"

"He was in a car accident. I'm very sorry." She took a deep breath. "Dr. Littlefield, it wasn't a recent accident. Professor Rigby died some time ago."

"Jeremy's dead?"

"Dr. Littlefield, Jeremy died almost thirty years," Skalany told him as gently as possible.

"I forgot the time difference." Ernest looked down for a moment. When he looked up, he said, "I was on another planet for several years. I lost track of the time."

"Uh-huh. " Skalany and Peter exchanged glances at that, but neither said anything. She thought a moment. "Is there someone we could call for you? A friend, a relative? I ... wasn't able to reach Catherine at that number."

"Catherine's friends: Jack, Samantha, Daniel, Teal'c. They come visit sometimes."

"Do you know their phone numbers or addresses?" When he shook his head, she continued, "Well, can you give me their last names?"

"Jack has an Irish name. O'Ryan? O'Malley? Samantha starts with a C: Carlin, Carson, Cartwright, something like that. Teal'c doesn't use a last name. Daniel, his name is Johnson, no, Jackson."

Peter looked up sharply. "Daniel Jackson?"

"I think so."

"Is he an archaeologist, like Jeremy?" Peter rose from his chair and walked over to Ernest and Skalany. "About my age, brown hair, glasses?"

Ernest nodded.

"What is it, Pete?"

"I know a Daniel Jackson."

"Hardly an uncommon name," Skalany pointed out.

"Yeah, but Danny's an archaeologist, or at least he used to be. And his specialty, before he, uh, " Peter tried to find a polite euphemism, "left the field, was ancient Egypt. Just like Rigby."

"Still a big if."

"Can't hurt to e-mail him."

**SG-1/KF:TLC ~~ SG-1/KF:TLC ~~ SG-1/KFTLC ~~ SG-1/KF:TLC**

Colonel Jack O'Neill's left eyebrow rose as he saw his team mate, Dr. Daniel Jackson, walking out of the SGC mess hall door. "You look like something the cat dragged in - and dragged back out again."

Daniel lifted the Styrofoam cup in his hand. "Don't even talk to me until I've had my coffee."

O'Neill nodded. He was a muscular man in his fifties, his hair going gray. Like Daniel, he wore green fatigues. "Out late looking for Ernest?"

Daniel took a sip of coffee before replying. "Until oh-my-God in the morning."

"Figured you'd still be in bed. " They walked together along the subterranean corridor of Stargate Command to Daniel's office as they talked. "It's not even zero-eight hundred yet."

Daniel shook his head. "Couldn't sleep. Too worried about Ernest."

O'Neill didn't bother offering platitudes. He was concerned about Ernest, too. The old man wasn't entirely sane, after his experience off-world. And he was dangerously ignorant of modern life.

The two walked in silence for a moment. When they reached his office, Daniel opened the door. He waved at a chair loaded with manila folders, turned on the coffeemaker and the computer. O'Neill picked up the folders, dumped them on the already crowded desk, and sat down. The room was small and cluttered. Artifacts from dozens of cultures, both extraterrestrial and ancient Terran, vied for shelf space with scores of books. File cabinets lined the walls.

"Daniel?"

The archaeologist clicked buttons on the keyboard without looking up.

"Why did you bother getting coffee in the mess hall when you have a coffeemaker in your office?" O'Neill asked.

"My coffee is premium blend, organically grown Costa Rican. This," Daniel lifted up the cup for O'Neill to see, "is sludge. My coffee is for flavor. This," he drained the cup, "is for removing paint and waking up."

O'Neill nodded.

Daniel went onto the Internet. "Let me check my e-mail real quick. Then I'll see if any of the local hospitals have reported a John Doe."

He didn't add "or morgues," but O'Neill heard the words as clearly as if he'd spoken them aloud.

Daniel glanced at headings and senders, and decided most of them could wait. Then he took a second look. "Pete? What's he doing writing me? It's not Christmas." He glanced at the size of the message - only 5KB - and the heading 'QQ.' His lips curled up involuntarily; seeing their childhood abbreviation for "quick question" brought back a ton of memories. He pressed the mouse, opened the e-mail, and started reading.

"Oh, my God."

"What is it?" O'Neill leaned over his team mate's shoulder to peek.

"Ernest is in New York," Daniel replied.

"New York? How'd he get there?" O'Neill demanded.

"I dunno." Daniel read the e-mail aloud: "Danny, I know this is a long shot, but do you know a Dr. Ernest Littlefield? We've got an old man, possible Alzheimer's wanderer, who was picked up for trying to break into the house where an archaeologist friend lived thirty years ago. No ID, and he couldn't give us an address or a phone number, but he gave 'Daniel Jackson' as a contact. Any chance you're his Daniel Jackson?"

"Who's Pete?" O'Neill glanced at the signature: just the first name, and two numbers with an area code he didn't recognize, one marked work, the other cell.

"An old friend. He's a cop in Sloanville, New York." Daniel reached for the phone. "I'll call Pete and let him know we're on the way to fetch Ernest. Then we can call Catherine and let her know we've found him." It was a shame that cell phone signals couldn't reach from the bowels of SGC to the surface; then he and O'Neill could make both calls simultaneously. He looked at the number at the bottom of the screen and began dialing.

The phone rang twice.

"Detective Caine, 101st precinct."

"Pete? It's Daniel." Pete started to say 'hi,' but Daniel interrupted, "Is Ernest all right?"

"Yeah, he's fine. Just sitting here drinking coffee and eating doughnuts."

"Thank God! He disappeared three days ago and we've been worried sick about him. He's, uh, not quite in touch with reality."

"Yeah, we kinda guessed that when he told us he'd spent several years on another planet," Peter told him.

The amused note in Peter's voice relieved Daniel; if Ernest hadn't been believed, then the secret of Project Stargate was safe ...for now. "Your e-mail said he was trying to break in somewhere. Are there any charges filed against him?"

"Not officially, no. He just scared the lady who lives there now. If you hadn't called, we probably would have wound up sending him to County General for a seventy-two hour psych evaluation."

"No, don't do that." Daniel realized he sounded panicked. He forced his voice to remain calm. "You know once you get into the system, they never let go of you."

"Oh, yeah," Peter agreed. He smiled to himself, knowing Daniel wouldn't - couldn't - know he was quoting Kermit's catch-phrase. "As long as he's out of our hair and released to someone responsible, I think I can get the captain to keep the paperwork to an absolute minimum."

"The less red tape, the better," Daniel agreed. "I'll come out there to get him, but I don't know how long it'll take to make travel arrangements. Can you keep him safe until I get there?"

Peter paused a moment before answering. "The captain's not going to let him just hang around here all day, and I can't just throw him in a cell." He hemmed a minute. "He's not dangerous, is he?"

"No, no," Daniel assured him. "Just a little confused."

"Then how 'bout I get my father to watch him? He's pretty good at taking in strays."

"I finally get to meet the infamous Pop? Cool!" Daniel exclaimed. "I'm gonna let you go so I can call off the search here and start making travel arrangements."

"Okay. Call me as soon as you have an ETA, all right?"

"Will do," Daniel promised. "See you soon." He hung up the phone, then immediately picked it up again. He dialed again; this number he had memorized.


	2. Air Force to the Rescue!

Major Samantha Carter sat at an oak table with Catherine Langford. The two women were not eating breakfast. Both the blonde major and the white-haired lady were playing with their food. Their toast grew cold and the Cocoa Krispies soggy as they hemmed and hawed, trying to make conversation, trying to keep each other's spirits up.

Despite the fact both had Ph. D.s, they were depressingly inarticulate that morning.

The phone rang.

Catherine dropped her spoon and reached for her crutches.

"I'll get it." Sam pushed her chair out. "It might be a telemarketer," she muttered under her breath, but she didn't sound like she believed herself.

Catherine shook her head. She knew telemarketers didn't call that early. And from her tone, Sam knew it, too.

Sam hurried to the phone. "Langford residence."

"Sam, it's Daniel. We found Ernest."

"That's terrific!" She turned to face Catherine. "They found him!" She picked up the cordless phone and began walking back to the dining room table. "Where is he? How is he?"

"He's okay, but he's in New York," Daniel replied.

"New York?"

"Did you say New York?" Catherine asked as she reached for the phone.

"Just a second, I'm passing you over to Catherine." Sam handed the telephone to the older woman.

"Catherine, he's safe. He's been found, and a friend of mine has promised to watch him until we can go get him," Daniel informed her.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

"He's in Sloanville, New York. The police found him," Daniel glanced at the e-mail on his computer screen, "trying to break into the house where an archaeologist friend lived thirty years ago."

"Jeremy Rigby used to live in Sloanville," Catherine remembered. "He and Ernest used to be close."

"Rigby? The Hatshepshut scholar?" Daniel asked.

"Yes, he and Ernest went to school together." She took a deep breath. "How did he get there?"

"I don't know yet, but I'll ask him as soon as I get there."

"As soon as we get there," she corrected him.

"Not with a broken ankle, Catherine. Your doctor told you to rest," Daniel reminded her. "Going halfway across the country is not restful."

Catherine said something very unladylike.

** SG-1/KF:TLC ~~ SG-1/KF:TLC ~~ SG-1/KF: TLC ~~ SG-1/KF:TLC**

Daniel looked out the cockpit window, awed and amazed by the view. He'd flown dozens of times, but he'd never been in the co-pilot's seat of a jet before. He glanced at the complicated controls in front of him, then quickly returned his gaze to the window again. Daniel had a habit of touching things he shouldn't - quantum mirrors, Goa'uld booby traps, assorted alien artifacts - and Col. O'Neill had threatened to handcuff him if he even thought about touching any of the plane's controls.

"I still can't believe you got General Hammond to lend us a jet," Daniel said.

"I convinced him it was a matter of national security," O'Neill replied. "Ernest knows about the stargate, and he might not know enough to keep his mouth shut. The sooner we get him home, the better."

Daniel nodded.

"So tell me about this Pete of yours. Known him long?" O'Neill asked.

"Since junior high. We were roommates at the orphanage, for a couple months when I was between foster homes." Daniel's parents had died when he was young, and he had grown up being shuffled between his grandfather and a series of foster homes. "He got teased a lot by the other boys because he was bald, but I -"

O'Neill interrupted. "Bald? Was he a cancer patient or a junior skinhead?"

"Neither. His mother was dead, and his father was a Shao-lin priest. Pete grew up in the monastery, until the place burned down. Since my parents were anthropologists, I was not only more tolerant than the other kids, but fascinated by his upbringing."

"He was in an orphanage? I thought you said his father would be watching Ernest, and that you were looking forward to meeting him," O'Neill remembered. "Have you got a ghost Ernest-sitting for us? Or is 'the infamous Pop' a just a real close friend, like an honorary uncle?"

"He's really Pete's father. After the fire, both of them thought the other one was dead. They were only reunited a few years ago," Daniel explained. "Pete's got two fathers, really. There was this police detective who was part of a mentoring program, sort of like Big Brother, who really clicked with Pete. He and his family wound up taking Peter in. He lived with them until halfway through college, and he's still close. That's the reason Pete became a cop."

Daniel sounded wistful, and O'Neill wondered what his foster homes had been like, and how many he'd been bounced between.

**SG-1/KF: TLC ~~ SG-1/KF:TLC ~~ SG-1/KF: TLC ~~ SG-1/KF: TLC**

Kermit rose from his chair and stretched. He swiveled his neck slowly to the left, then to the right. He'd been sitting in front of his computer too long. His rump was saddle-sore from too long in his chair. His eyes were tired. A brief meander around the bullpen, a cup of coffee, maybe a doughnut, and a little face time with his colleagues would do him good. He opened his office door and saw Sgt. Broderick at the far end of the bullpen, escorting two visitors. One was a brown-haired, bespectacled man, probably about ten years younger than Kermit. The other man was older than Kermit, probably in his early to mid-fifties. Although he wore a sports jacket and slacks, his military bearing and military haircut caught Kermit's eye. He took a closer look at the man. Behind his green-tinted glasses, his eyes widened. He stepped back inside quickly and closed the door. The last thing he wanted was for Col. O'Neill to recognize him and ask what he was doing here.

Being a police detective wasn't a second career for Kermit. It was a hidey-hole. He'd gathered quite a collection of enemies in his mercenary days - people who would pay good money to know where he was now. He didn't think O'Neill would deliberately blow his cover, but the fewer people who knew who he was - or had been - and where he was, the better.

He couldn't help wondering, though. Why was Peter's friend coming to fetch an Alzheimer's patient who'd gone wandering accompanied by an Air Force officer with a history in black ops?

"Det. Caine's over there," Sgt. Broderick pointed.

Peter looked up from his computer screen when he heard his name. "Danny!" He quickly saved his work and stood to greet his old friend. He walked slowly to Daniel and O'Neill.

"Pete, it's been too long." Daniel's smile was as wide as a river.

O'Neill took one look at Peter's stiff movements and whispered, "No hugs."

They met in the middle of the bullpen. Daniel took Peter's right hand in his own, shaking it warmly. He clasped Peter's right shoulder with his left hand. Daniel released his hand and introduced: "Pete, my friend, Jack O'Neill. Also a friend of Ernest's. Peter Caine."

"Nice to meet you." The two shook hands, a far more tepid gesture than it had been for Daniel and Peter. The detective took a second look at his friend. Daniel was considerably more buff than he'd been the last time Peter had seen him. "You been working out? You've finally put some meat on your bones."

Daniel hesitated a second before answering. He couldn't explain that O'Neill and Teal'c had been supervising an exercise regimen, designed to ensure he could keep up with the rest of the team on off-world missions. "Yeah, I've been hitting the gym more often."

"Let me tell the captain where we're going, and then - "

"Tell the captain what?" Simms interrupted.

O'Neill raised an appreciative eyebrow and gave the woman standing in the open doorway a discreet onceover. Captain Karen Simms was a handsome woman, rather than pretty. She'd never see forty again, but she'd aged like a good cheddar cheese, getting stronger and better. Her clothes were simply but elegantly tailored: a gray linen pantsuit over a pink silk brocade blouse. O'Neill saw the bulge of a pistol beneath her jacket.

"These are Dr. Littlefield's friends. They've come to take him home," Peter explained.

Simms nodded her approval. "Go collect him, then straight back. You're still confined to desk duty until the doctor says otherwise."

"Cracked ribs?" O'Neill guessed.

Peter nodded.

"Saw the way you were moving," O'Neill remarked. "Been there, done that, got the T-shirt."

"Detective Caine, straight back," Simms ordered. "No bank robberies, no ninja attacks, no hostage situations. No -" she hesitated, not wanting to talk about some of the weird things Peter and his father got involved with in front of strangers.

"Let me guess, he's a trouble magnet?" O'Neill asked.

Peter started to protest. Simms merely nodded primly.

"Makes sense." O'Neill jerked a thumb at Daniel. "He's one, too."

"Ja-ack," Daniel began.

Simms smiled at O'Neill. She was beginning to suspect that the two of them had as much in common as Peter and Daniel did.


	3. The Infamous Pop

It took twenty minutes to drive from the police station to Kwai Chang Caine's Chinatown apartment, and would've only taken fifteen if they hadn't hit the drive-through at Jack-in-the-Box so O'Neill and Daniel could grab a quick lunch. _En route_, Daniel and Peter traded old memories as O'Neill drove the unmarked car he'd requisitioned from Lansing Air Force Base's motor pool.

"When are you flying back? Because if you're not going home until tomorrow, you can stay at my place tonight," Peter offered. "My couch folds out to a bed."

Daniel opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn't sure of the colonel's plans. He knew O'Neill wanted to get Ernest back to Colorado as quickly as possible, but surely he'd need some rest before flying back, wouldn't he?

"Unfortunately, we have a very short layover. We're heading back almost as soon as we get Dr. Littlefield," O'Neill replied.

"Pity. I was hoping we'd get a chance to play catch-up, Danny. Turn left at the next red light," Peter directed.

The light was green when they got there, but O'Neill turned left anyway.

**SG-1/KF: TLC ~~ SG-1/KF:TLC ~~ SG-1/KF: TLC ~~ SG-1/KF: TLC**

Peter knocked on the door. "Pop, it's me."

"The door ... is not locked," came the reply from within.

Peter opened the door and led the other two inside. Ernest and Kwai Chang Caine sat on pillows on the floor, a low table with a chess board between them. Master Caine held his hand above the board for a moment, then moved his bishop to take Ernest's rook. He silently mouthed four syllables. O'Neill wasn't an expert lip-reader, but he thought the middle-aged Eurasian had said 'don't call me Pop.'

Ernest stared at the board for a second, then looked up at the trio coming in the door. "Jack! Daniel! I'm glad you came." Awkwardly, he struggled to his feet. "I hope Catherine wasn't too worried about me."

"Actually, she was, Ernest," O'Neill told him.

"We all were," Daniel added. "We've been looking all over the county for you for days. We didn't expect you to cross the state line, let alone half the country."

"I didn't want to upset anyone. I just wanted to get out of Catherine's way while she was recuperating, so I decided to go visit my friend Jeremy," Ernest explained.

"Next time, leave a note," O'Neill advised, his tone completely deadpan.

"This is my father, Kwai Chang Caine." Peter started to introduce them, "Pop, these are -"

"Jack O'Neill," the Shao-lin master rose gracefully. He wore a silk shirt, elaborately embroidered with a dragon design, and a pair of faded blue jeans. He bowed his head in the colonel's direction. "Daniel Jackson." He nodded to the archaeologist. "Ernest told me of his friends. Teal'c and ... Samantha Carter... are not with you?"

"They're taking care of Catherine." O'Neill looked at Caine and wondered just what Ernest had told him, and how much. "Thanks for taking care of him for us."

Caine bowed again. "It was my pleasure ... and my honor. The making of a new friend ... is a joy to be celebrated ... especially when my new friend ... is the good friend of ... one of my son's friends."

"How on Earth did you get to Sloanville?" Daniel asked.

"I rode the bus. I wanted to see Jeremy, but he wasn't at his house. The lady who lives there now got all upset when I rang the bell and asked for him, and I went to the police station while they looked for you. Then Detective Caine," the elderly man waved his hand at Peter, "drove me here. Kwai and I have been busy all day."

Peter raised one eyebrow. Nobody called his father 'Kwai'.

"First we went to the YMCA and exercised in the pool. Kwai lent me his spare swimming trunks." Ernest looked up at O'Neill and Daniel. "Maybe you'd better not tell Catherine I was with a lot of women in swimming suits."

"Carolyn's water aerobics class," Caine reminded his son. "I often assist her."

Peter nodded. His foster sister taught an aquatic Pi-Yo class. She concentrated on the Pilates part, and his father assisted with the yoga part.

"Some of the exercises were hard," Ernest complained. "Especially eagle pose."

"Eagle is one of the more difficult positions," Caine agreed. "You did quite well ... with mountain pose and warrior one and two."

"Then we went to the park. We had a picnic lunch, and Kwai played his flute for the pigeons. Then he did ti - tai -" Ernest glanced at Caine, unable to remember the phrase.

"Tai chi," Caine prompted.

"Then we came back here. Kwai worked in his garden. I helped."

"I'm sure you did," O'Neill agreed, using the same tone he had years ago when his son Charlie had boasted that he'd helped Mommy.

"Do we have to go back now?" Ernest waved a hand at the chessboard. "We're in the middle of a game."

Caine reached over and tipped his king on its side. "Were the pattern of play … to continue unaltered … your bishop would take my king in four moves."

Daniel looked at the board, considered the pieces a moment, then nodded his agreement with Caine's prediction.

"Your Catherine having waited for you so long and faithfully … it would be cruel to make her wait longer for your return."

Ernest nodded.

O'Neill raised an eyebrow, wondering again what Ernest had told Caine, and how much he had believed. "Besides, we promised Captain Simms we'd get Pete straight back to the police station. We really gotta go."

"To break a promise … is dishonorable. To break a promise to Karen Simms …is unwise … and should be avoided."

"Don't tell me you're scared of Simms, Pop."

"I do not … fear her. However, I have a healthy respect for her. She is a competent … and dangerous … woman."

"Not bad looking, either," O'Neill interjected just as Caine added:

"And don't call me Pop." He turned to O'Neill and gave a half-bow. "Extreme feminine beauty … is always disturbing."

"You're quoting again. So who said that? Confucius? Lao Tse? Lin Yu-tang?" Peter asked. His father had a habit of quoting ancient Chinese philosophers.

In unison, Daniel, O'Neill, and Caine replied, "Spock."

"_Trek _Classic, 'The Cloud Minders'," Daniel recited.

Ernest reached for his jacket. "May I come back sometime?"

"That would give me … great pleasure." The Shao-lin priest turned from his son to O'Neill. "You are … flying …back to Colorado?"

O'Neill nodded. Before he could open his mouth to explain they had to leave now or risk missing their flight, Caine continued:

"If your flight is not until this evening …I would be honored … if you returned here … for dinner. I would enjoy …a longer visit with my new friend … and I am sure … Peter would welcome …more time … visiting with his old friend."

Daniel turned to O'Neill, staring at him with puppy dog eyes. The colonel thought quickly. He wanted to thank Caine, drop Peter off at the police station, head back to Lansing Air Force Base, and fly home to Colorado. They could have dinner in the mess hall at Stargate Command, or better yet, at Catherine's house. But he knew from their conversation in the car that Daniel not only wanted to reconnect with his old buddy, but meet a modern-day Shao-lin priest. And two three-hour flights in less than eight hours would drain him to the dregs. Whereas if they stayed for dinner, he'd have a few hours to rest. If they left LAFB by 20:00 local time, it would be 23:00 Eastern time when they got back, but 21:00 Mountain time. He could handle that.

"I have cots in the other room," Caine offered, "if you require lodgings before returning home. I sometimes … have patients stay overnight."

"Patients?" Daniel repeated.

"My father's an apothecary," Peter explained. "Traditional Chinese medicine."

"Like eating tiger testicles instead of Viagra?" O'Neill asked.

"As Peter's friend Eppy says …'don't knock it …if you haven't tried it.' Of course … the tiger testicles must be fresh … and it is best … if one has collected them one's self." His voice was so deadpan that the other four men weren't sure if he was joking or not.

"We can come back for dinner," O'Neill announced, "but we'll need to leave right afterwards. Sorry, Danny, you and your pal will have to have your sleepover some other time."

"Jack, once you're out of junior high, you don't call them sleepovers anymore," Daniel said.

"Thanks for looking out for Ernest for us, and for the dinner invitation." O'Neill stretched out his hand.

Caine took the colonel's hand and shook it, giving a half bow as he did so. "I look forward to your return. I am … very pleased to have met …you and Dr. Littlefield. I am sorry I could not meet your other friends." He escorted them to the door. Once he had closed it behind them, he added softly, "It was been a long time … since I met a Jaffa."


End file.
